


Doubt Reflected

by CatHeights



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-22
Updated: 2004-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beecher learns that Keller has been attacked in the storage room and finds he can't help worrying about his former lover. Set during season 4.2. Thanks to rileyc for giving me the phrase "Toby, was it you" to use as inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doubt Reflected

The crossword remained empty even though Beecher had been staring at it for fifteen minutes. He couldn't concentrate, not when he knew Keller had been hurt. Christ, this might even be worse than when Chris had been shot. At least that time he'd been able to ask about his condition. Now he didn't dare voice a single concern. Things were over between him and Chris. The whole goddamn prison knew. After all, Keller was the one who had declared he didn't give a damn who fucked Beecher.

But Keller had lied.

Shemin and Browne, two men who had screwed around with Beecher, were dead. Like some deranged cat, Keller had left a few kills on his doorstep to show he still cared. It should have been frightening, but his dark and greedy soul had sparked alive at the attention. Besides what were two more deaths in Oz? The worthless were expendable, and he had too much blood on his hands to play the role of virtuous judge.

Even the vicious little games they'd been playing lately couldn't stop him from caring. He needed Chris in any way he could have him, and now Keller had been injured, maybe dying for all he knew. Beecher ground the pencil into the newspaper, breaking its tip. He shouldn't care, but he did, god, he did.

The scrape of movement brought him out of his reflections. As O'Reily turned a chair around and sat down, Beecher tried not to appear too grateful for the distraction.

"It was just a scratch," O'Reily said.

Beecher hoped his face showed bored ignorance and not the relief he felt. "What?"

"Keller."

O'Reily's shrewd gaze tried to push its way past the defenses of his bland expression, but he wasn't giving the Irishman anything that could be used against him.

"I thought you'd want to know considering the history you two share."

"History's something dead and over." Beecher put the pencil down on the table and leaned back in his chair. "He's all yours O'Reily."

The insinuation only sparked a grin. "They kept him overnight because they were worried about a concussion. The fucker who hit him, knocked him cold."

For a few seconds, O'Reily stared at him like he was trying to determine the answer to an unasked question. Beecher was almost afraid to ponder what that question might be.

"Keller's tough. They won't keep him down," O'Reily said.

No, Keller wasn't easy to take down. He knew that from experience. A disturbing memory of hiding in the storage room waiting for Chris came to mind. Beecher recalled the manic rush that had come over him as he had slammed that shank into Keller. Skin had given way just as his bones and heart had under Keller's hands. He had enjoyed that strike of revenge, but even then he hadn't wanted Chris to die. No, he'd just wanted him to suffer, like he had, like he always seemed to suffer.

A blink and another memory slid into place. He recalled Chris struggling to get out of his shirt, and the sight of the bandage that covered that bullet wound.

_They stab me, they shoot me, I ain't going down._

Chris's reassurance that he was fine hadn't helped. He'd needed to see the wound, to touch it and try to offer something gentle that could stave off the violence that had become his life. Not that the kiss had helped. The worst of Keller's wounds were inside, festering, just like Beecher's. Kisses couldn't heal those types of wounds, but Beecher believed they could at least be soothed, if Keller would forgive him. He'd always been an intelligent fool.

"You know, he might already be out of the infirmary." O'Reily's voice brought him back to the present. "In case you care."

Beecher barely noticed O'Reily leaving the table as he felt a weight settle on his shoulders. He knew that feeling — that gaze. He glanced upward, and sure enough, there was Keller leaning against one of the railings. He gave an exaggerated wave when their eyes met.

It was a relief to see him standing there, smirking, but Beecher only shook his head and turned his gaze back to the crossword. Of course the pencil was broken. Not that it mattered because he still couldn't answer a single clue. Keller was watching him. After a minute, he sighed and gave in to the masochistic impulse to go talk to Chris.

His approach was met with a wide grin. "Hey Toby, did you hear someone tried to get a piece of me?"

"I heard."

"They did a lousy job. Nothing more than a scratch." Keller lifted his shirt and turned to reveal a cut that started under his armpit and continued to the opposite side of his lower back.

It looked like a hell of a lot more than a scratch, but even with just a quick glance, Beecher could tell that while it appeared nasty, it wasn't deep. "Shouldn't you have that bandaged?"

"Ah, I took it off. A pain in the neck to shower, and I felt like a fucking mummy." Keller lowered his shirt. "So do you want to hear what happened?"

Beecher couldn't begin to guess if Chris being in such a talkative mood was a good thing. He shrugged. "Sure."

"I was in the storage room, shelving paper, and then next thing I know, I'm in the infirmary, and I got a familiar pain in my back. Yet really, I got off lucky. I mean, shit, I was out cold, whoever conked me could have done a lot more damage than this. It makes you wonder about their intentions."

"You might want to consider asking for a new job assignment. Your track record in the storage room isn't good." Beecher bit his tongue, cursing his traitorous mouth for the reference to that incident. Something about Keller's attitude was putting him on edge, but that shouldn't surprise him. Keller often made him feel out of his element. It was part of his charm.

Keller leaned in close. His breath was hot on Beecher's neck. "It's nice that you're so concerned."

Beecher snorted and took a step backward. This strange mood of Keller's was even more disconcerting than normal. He watched as Keller went back over to the railing and leaned on it, gazing at the inmates below. Keller wanted something, and Beecher waited silently to hear what it was. Eventually, the question came.

"Toby, was it you?"

"What?" Beecher's forehead crinkled in confusion.

When Keller turned around, his grin was gone. "Was it you?"

Comprehension dawned. "Wait, you think I'm the one who did this? Why the hell would I do that?"

"I won't try to list your reasons." A grin accompanied those words, but Chris's eyes were angry and hurt.

"You really think I would do such a thing?"

Beecher heard an echo of Chris in his mind. You actually thought in your heart that I could do such a thing?

Son of a bitch, had they come full circle, or were they caught in a loop, forever distrusting and hurting? Would it never end?

An expression flickered across Keller's face, but it disappeared before Beecher could figure out what it was. "Just figured I'd ask. Wouldn't want to insult you by not asking." He smiled widely and shrugged. "Must have been some Aryan trying for first blood and fucking it up." Keller stepped closer and ran a hand down Beecher's arm. "Don't worry too much about me. I'll figure out who it was."

"I wasn't worried."

"Yes, you were." The words were whispered in his ear, and then with a smile and a knowing look, Keller sauntered away.

Beecher stood there struggling with anger and frustration, and the overwhelming relief of being able to watch Chris walk away. "Yes, I was worried," he whispered, and then headed back down the stairs toward a crossword puzzle that would never be finished.


End file.
